


Seeing Beyond

by kaitlynsb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlynsb/pseuds/kaitlynsb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is dead (again) and Dean doesn't know what to do. He decides to visit a psychic to try and talk to his brother, but he gets more than he bargained for. He's suddenly dragged into an ancient fight and he might be about to lose everything he cares about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Plan

When Dean wakes up, the first thing he notices is that it's quiet. There's no Sam shuffling around the motel room, or snoring in the other bed. It's just Dean, alone with his thoughts. He groans, throwing an arm over his face. Sam's gone, and Dean's not entirely sure how to get him back, or if he even can. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it all over again. The demons, fighting and snarling, and the knife sliding between Sam's ribs as Dean screams.  
He sits up, running his hands over his face. He feels raw and empty. But most importantly, he feels alone. It's not a feeling that Dean likes. He sits for a minute, composing his thoughts, before sighing and getting off the bed. He wants to spend as little time here as possible, so he wants to get going soon. Dean walks over to his bag and pulls out a granola bar. As he eats it, he thinks that he could really use a drink. He wishes he'd brought something with him.  
Dean finishes his granola bar and throws everything into his bag. He changes, and then he's out the door. As he opens the door to the Impala, he's again struck by the loneliness. He glances over at the passenger side door, but it doesn't move. No Sam to fill the seat next to him. Dean pops in Zeppelin II turning it up full blast, hoping it'll be loud enough to block out his thoughts.

Dean makes it all the way into Colorado before his thoughts wander. He thinks about Sam, about what's happened to him. Dean had buried his body in the woods outside the small Idaho town they'd been in, a small stone with his name on it the only sign that he was there. After he had filled the grave, he had collapsed, sobbing. The weight of everything that had happened was closing in around him like a vice, crushing him. He had stayed like that for a good half hour before finally leaving. He hadn't cried since. Years of having to be strong for Sam had ingrained that into him. Dean thinks about Cas, who he hasn't heard from at all since everything happened. Dean thinks that Castiel must be aware of what happened, so why hasn't he shown up? A hot anger fills Dean, pushing aside the sadness. He's mad at Cas, mad at himself, mad at Sam. He's mad at everything. Dean pulls the Impala over to the side of the rode. He sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, breathing heavily. Images flash before his eyes. Sam being stabbed, dying in his arms, blood on the ground, on his hands. Dean stumbled out of the car, shaking. He lands on the ground on all fours, vomiting up what little he had eaten. Dean sits back against the Impala, shaking all over. Tears feel hot in his eyes. He's not sure how long he sits there shaking, tears threatening to spill over. Eventually he gets up, takes a swig out of a water bottle, and starts driving again.

A few hours later, Dean pulls into the garage in the bunker. He turns off the ignition and walks inside. The bunker feels strange when it's just him. There's not even Crowley in the dungeons anymore. It's eerie, being the only person in a place so big. Dean wanders into the war room, flipping on the lights. Everything is just as he and Sam had left it. Dean feels a pang of sadness as he sees one of Sam's hoodies draped over the back of a chair. He walks over to it, running the fabric over in his hands, staring into space. He stops when he hears a knock at the door. Dean grabs a knife and goes to open it. Standing in the doorway is Castiel, a sad look on his face.  
“Hello Dean,” he says, his customary greeting.  
“Where the hell have you been?” Dean asks, almost spitting the words.  
“I'm sorry,” Cas replies. “I was . . . otherwise occupied.”  
“With what?” Dean is angry now. Sam just died, and Cas was “otherwise occupied”?  
“May I come in?” Cas asks.  
“Sure, whatever,” Dean mumbles, walking back down stairs. He sits down at one of the tables.  
“I would have been here sooner if I could,” Cas says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Just so you know.”  
Dean sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What was so important?”  
“It's nothing that concerns you,” Cas returns, glancing away.  
“The hell it doesn't!” Dean yells, slamming a hand down on the table, suddenly furious. Castiel doesn't even flinch. “My brother just died and you were gone doing whatever you were doing that's apparently too important for stupid mortals to understand!”  
Castiel just looks back, meeting Dean's eyes. “You don't need to be worried about anything else right now,” he says calmly.  
“I think I can decide that for myself,” Dean spits back.  
“I'm sure you can,” is all Cas says in return. Dean just shakes his head, looking away.  
“I'm sorry about Sam,” Cas says quietly.  
“Yeah, me too,” Dean manages to get out.  
Cas reaches across the table, resting his hand on top of Dean's. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks.  
“I doubt it,” Dean mumbles, pulling his hand back and getting up from the table. He glances at Cas before going into the kitchen. He really needs a drink right now. He starts rooting through the cupboards, looking for some Hunter's Helper. He finally finds some and a shot glass, and sits down. He pours himself a shot and downs it, the whiskey burning his throat. He's already downed another before Cas comes into the kitchen. He stands awkwardly by the counter, watching Dean. After two more shots and a few minutes of staring, Dean breaks.  
“What?!” he snaps. “Why are you even here! There's nothing you can do for me so stop looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy or something!”  
Cas doesn't reply, just grabs a beer out of the fridge and sits down across from Dean. “Maybe you don't need my help. Maybe you just need someone to drink with,” he says, raising his beer and taking a sip.  
“You can't get drunk,” Dean says.  
“That may be true,” Cas replies, “but that doesn't mean I can't drink.”  
Dean just shrugs and takes another shot.

A few hours later, Dean and Cas are on the sofa watching Batman Forever. By this point, Dean has finished the bottle of whiskey and is on his third beer. He's really drunk, and he likes how numb it makes him feel.  
“I'm mad at him, you know,” Dean tells Cas, his words slurring together. “Sam. He went and got his stupid ass killed and now I have to deal with it. He wasn't supposed to leave me alone.”  
“I understand, Dean,” Cas says, glancing over at him. “Sometimes I think death is harder on those left behind than those who actually go through it.”  
“Amen to that,” Dean says, taking another drink of beer. He slumps back. “Everyone leaves me. Mom, Dad, Bobby, Sam, you. Everyone leaves, and it kills me every time.”  
“I never like to leave,” Cas says, turning to look at Dean. “If I could, I would stay here always. But I have responsibilities, things that need to be done.”  
“Screw responsibilities,” Dean growls, grabbing Cas by the lapels of his trench coat. “I need you. You know that. Sam died and I was alone. You should have been there.”  
“I wanted to be,” Cas replies. “I felt your pain, heard your prayers, and I wanted nothing but to be there for you, but I couldn't.”  
Dean releases his grip on Castiel's coat and leans forward, laying his head on Cas's chest. “You're all I have left now. You can't leave me.”  
“We'll get Sam back,” Cas says, moving his arm so it's resting around Dean's back. “We've done it before, we can do it again. Besides, you wouldn't be saying these things if you weren't drunk.”  
“You don't know that,” Dean says softly.  
“Yes I do,” Cas replies.  
Dean just sighs, bringing himself closer to Castiel. “It hurts,” he whispers.  
“I know,” Cas whispers back.  
“Why did this have to happen?” Dean asks.  
“I can't understand all the designs of God,” Cas says. “Sometimes I wonder if there's even a plan at all, with all the bad things that happen. I know that's blasphemy, but it's hard to watch all the suffering of humanity and think that it's all part of some divine plan.”  
“This is why the other angels don't like you” Dean jokes.  
“Most likely,” Cas says, a slight smile playing on his lips.  
“Do you really think we can get Sam back?” Dean asks.  
“Yes,” Cas replies. “Nothing will stop you from protecting your brother.”  
“That's true.” Dean pulls away from Cas, stifling a yawn. “We should finish the movie,” he says, trying to change the subject. He's thinking too much, and the whole point of getting drunk was to not do that.  
“Alright,” Cas says, settling back into the couch. If Dean didn't know any better, he would say there was a brief look of disappointment on his angel's face.

Dean's head is pounding when he wakes up. He doesn't want to open his eyes or wake up or move or anything at all right about now. Besides, he's warm and comfortable. But he doesn't remember ever going back to his room last night. Dean opens his eyes and sees Cas very close to him, seemingly deep in thought. Dean starts, realizing that he had been resting his head on Castiel's shoulder. Cas breaks out of his trance and looks down at Dean. Dean pulls away, his face flushing.  
“Sorry,” he mumbles.  
“It's quite alright,” Castiel says. “You were comfortable and I didn't want to move you.”  
Dean can't think of anything to say right about now. His head is still killing him and he massages his temples. “I must have been really drunk last night,” Dean says. “We watched Batman Forever.” He laughs awkwardly. The joke didn't do anything to lighten the mood in the room. Castiel just tilts his head at him, confused.  
“I need some coffee,” Dean grumbles, slowly getting up from the sofa. He so wasn't awake enough for this.  
As Dean waits for the coffee maker, he replays scenes from last night in his head. Oh gosh, he and Cas had had a total chick flick moment. He runs his hands over his face. It's going to be a long day.  
Dean sits down with his mug of coffee, drinking it even though it burns his tongue. Cas comes into the kitchen and sits down at the table. Dean doesn't acknowledge him, because if he doesn't maybe Cas will just go away.  
They sit there in silence for a good ten minutes before Castiel blurts out, “I need to return to heaven.” Dean jumps, almost spilling coffee on himself. “I know that you'd rather I be here right now, but there is something important that needs my attention.”  
“Yeah, no, it's totally fine,” Dean says. After last night and being all cuddled up to him this morning, Dean could use some time away from Cas right now.  
“Are you sure?” Cas asks, trying to catch Dean's eye.  
“Yeah, I'm sure,” Dean replies, avoiding Cas's piercing stare. “Go be a hero or whatever.”  
“I'll return as soon as I'm done,” Castiel says, getting up from the table. “I shouldn't be gone long.”  
“Ok,” Dean says, getting up. He walks Castiel to the door of the bunker. “Be careful, ok,” Dean says.  
“Of course,” Cas says. He lays a hand on Dean's shoulder for a second before opening the door, walking a few feet, and then disappearing with the telltale sound of wings.  
Dean sighs. As much as he didn't want to talk to Cas about all that stuff he'd said, he also realized he was alone again. It was going to be a really long day.

Dean is starting to worry. Cas had said he wouldn't be long, but that was a week ago. On top of what happened to Sam, now Dean has to worry about Cas too. He walks to his room, mumbling under his breath. He collapses onto his bed, but he knows he won't sleep. He's hardly slept in days. Nightmares plague him and every night he wakes up in a cold sweat. He always sees the same thing, that damn knife plunging into his brother's chest. He takes off his jeans and lays down, staring at the ceiling. Scenarios play in his head about what might have happened to Cas. Dean sits up, trying to clear his head. He grabs bottle of sleeping pills from his nightstand, downs one, and then tries to get some sleep.

Dean wakes up a few hours later, Sam's name tumbling from his mouth in a scream. He stumbles from his room into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he vomits. He stays there for a minute, resting his head on the cool porcelain. When he gets up, he sees his reflection in the mirror. He has dark bags under his green eyes, his face his pale, and his eyes are bloodshot. He leans over the sink, splashing cold water on his face. He's shaking, grasping the edges of the sink so hard his knuckles turn white, and choking back sobs. Dean realizes that he has to do something. He can't handle not having Sam here with him. He composes himself, and goes to the war room to make a plan.  
He doesn't know where to start. He doesn't even know where Sam went, whether he went to Heaven or Hell. The best way to start would probably be with a séance. Dean doesn't really like psychics all that much, but if there's a way to communicate with his brother, he'd better take it. Dean looks through their records for psychics. He thinks about Missouri, but he doesn't want any pity. As he flips through business cards and slips of paper, he finds a post-it note in Ellen's handwriting. It's an address for a psychic in Lincoln, Nebraska. That's not far from the bunker. Dean pockets the post-it and goes to make himself some coffee. He'll leave for Lincoln in the morning, hopefully to finally get some answers.


	2. Meet Your Match

The next morning, Dean is driving along Interstate 80, Metallica blaring in the background. Dean leans his arm out the window, enjoying the calm that driving always brings him. There’s still that nagging at the back of his mind, but he pushes it down, singing loudly and off key. He sees signs for exits to Lincoln. As he gets off the freeway, he pulls into a gas station. He fills up Baby, and then goes inside. He grabs a Snickers from a nearby display and goes to pay.  
“Do you know where this is?” Dean asks the teenager popping gum behind the counter, showing her the address on the post-it.  
“Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “That’s that wacko psychic place down on C Street.”  
“Can you tell me how to get there?” Dean asks.  
The teen gives him directions, and Dean leaves the store, pocketing the candy bar for later. He gets in the Impala and pulls out, heading for downtown Lincoln. He looks closely at every street sign, waiting for one to say C Street. He finds it and pulls onto it, glancing all around for the psychic shop. After a couple blocks he sees it. An old, dilapidated building with a neon sign blinking Aunt May’s Psychic Readings, except about half the letters are burned out. Dean’s pulls over and parks by the curb. He glances at the shop, not entirely sure this can be the right place. Eventually he decides this has to be it, and he gets out of the Impala.   
As Dean enters the store, a bell rings above the door. The smell of incense fills his nostrils, and the smell is so strong he almost chokes on it. The interior is dimly lit with weird psychic paraphernalia scattered around. Dean is glancing at a crystal ball when a grey-haired woman in a turban comes out of a doorway hung with beads.   
“Welcome, child,” she says in a wispy, high-pitched voice. “What can I help you with today?”  
“Um,” Dean stutters, thinking for sure this must be some mistake. This woman surely can’t be a real psychic. She’s probably just some lady who’s totally stoned. “I’m just looking,” he says quickly.  
“Well feel free to look all you like,” the woman says. “There is much here that might fascinate you. And you if have any questions, Aunt May will be happy to help you.” She gives a little bow of her head and goes to stand behind the counter.  
Dean starts looking at a display of tarot cards, not sure what to do. He decides it won’t hurt to at least try. This could be just a disguise the woman wears.  
Dean goes up to the counter. “Actually, did you know an Ellen Harvelle?” he asks, putting an arm on the glass display. The young woman sitting in the shadows behind the counter, who Dean hadn’t noticed glances up at that.   
“I don’t,” Aunt May says. “But if she is someone you would like to contact, I can most definitely do that.”  
“That’s ok,” Dean says, patting the counter before turning away. Downfallen, he goes over to look at a display of tarot cards. He doesn’t know what to do. Ellen must have made a mistake, giving Dean the address of this place.  
“Dean Winchester,” a voice behind him says. Dean startles, turning around. He comes face to face with the woman he’d seen behind the counter. Her dark brown hair is cut in a pixie cut, and she wears a denim jacket with patches all over, an oversized Van Halen t-shirt, ripped black jeans, and black combat boots. She looks to be in her early 30’s.   
“How do you know my name?” he asks, backing off from the woman a bit.   
“Ellen sent you,” the woman says, not acknowledging Dean’s question. “I was sorry to hear about her passing.”  
“You know Ellen?” Dean asks.  
“Yes. She was a good woman, very kind.”  
“Wait a minute,” Dean says, taken aback. “You’re the psychic?”  
The woman chuckles. “What gave it away? The fact that I knew Ellen, or that I knew your name even though I’ve never heard you say it?”  
“That woman, Aunt May, she’s not a real psychic, is she?” Dean asks.  
“No,” the woman says, laughing a little. “My aunt wouldn’t know a real psychic if it punched her in the face.”  
“That makes sense,” Dean says, finding himself chuckling a little too.  
“My names Leonora, but you can call me Lee,” the woman says, holding out her hand.  
“Dean Winchester,” Dean says, shaking her hand. “But you already knew that.”  
“You’re here to commune with someone who is departed,” Lee says.  
“Yeah, my brother,” Dean replies. He’s still a bit taken aback by how much Lee knows, but that’s typical with psychics.  
“I’ll tell you what,” Lee says, coming closer. “We close at 10:00. You come back here about 10:30, and I’ll conduct a séance for you.”  
Dean isn’t sure if coming to this place after dark is a good idea, but Ellen vouched for this woman. “Alright,” Dean says, turning to go. “Thanks.”  
“It’s no problem” Lee returns. She turns and goes through the beaded doorway. Dean exits the shop. He gets into the Impala, heading off to look for a motel to kill time in until that night.

After dinner at a diner down the street, and a short nap in the motel, 10:30 finally rolls around. Dean gets into the car and drives back to the shop. The sign is off, and the shop is dark except for a single light in the back. Dean goes up to the door, hesitantly knocking softly on the glass.   
The door opens at his touch, freaking Dean out a little. He figures it’s some psychic weirdness. Dean’s never really liked psychics, but he’s desperate right now.  
Dean walks into the store. Lee is behind the counter, counting cash from the register.  
“I’m almost done here, and then we can begin,” she says.  
“’Kay,” Dean says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels awkwardly, not really sure what to do. It’s a relief when Lee finally closes the cash register, a slight ding coming from it.  
“Right then,” Lee says, rubbing her hands together. “We’ll be in the back,” she says, gesturing towards the beaded doorway. Dean nods, going through. He emerges into a dark room. He can barely make out the silhouette of a circular table in the center. Lee comes in, a box of matches in hand. She goes to the table and lights three candles in the middle. A flickering light fills the room, and Dean can make maroon damask-patterned wallpaper on the wall and matching carpet on the floor. There are two chairs placed on opposite sides of the table, and console on one wall.   
Dean stands awkwardly as Lee goes over to the console, pulling open one of the drawers. “You can sit,” she says, not looking in his direction. Dean shuffles over to the table, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down. Lee comes to the table and sits across from him.   
“Do you have an object of Sam’s?” she asks. Dean’s not even going to bother asking how she knows Sam’s name. But then he remembers he didn’t bring anything with him. Crap. Suddenly he remembers the amulet.  
“Will this work?” Dean asks, pulling the amulet off.  
“That should do nicely,” Lee replies, taking the amulet and placing it in the center of the table.  
“Right,” she says. “I’ll attempt to make contact with Sam. All I need you to do is think about him. Once I’ve made contact, he’ll be able to hear you but you won’t be able to hear him. I will act as a medium to kind of . . . translate what he says for you.”  
“Right,” Dean says, nodding. He’s suddenly nervous, his stomach is doing flips and his palms sweating.   
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Lee says, her face softening as she looks at Dean.   
“How did you know Ellen?” Dean blurts out suddenly. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s actually curious, or because he wants to delay this whole séance thing.  
“Ellen came to me after her husband passed,” Lee explains. “I allowed her to communicate with him, and after that she came to me for any kind of psychic advice. I’ve helped a few hunters thanks to her. That’s about the only business I get.” She sounds bitter.   
“Why do you work for your aunt if she’s a phony?” Dean asks.  
“She’s family,’ Lee says. “And besides, it provides a good front for me. I can help people without drawing a lot of attention to myself.”  
Dean nods; that makes sense. Lee looks at him, meeting his eyes with her bright blue ones. “Let’s begin,” she says.   
Lee takes Dean’s hands across the table and closes her eyes. Dean closes his, focusing on thoughts of Sam. He thinks about Sammy when he was small, relying on Dean for almost everything because Dad was off on a hunt again. He sees the look of admiration in Sam’s eyes, how much Sam had looked up to him back then. He thinks about Sam, all grown up, going off to Stanford. Sam, sitting in the Impala, across the table from in a diner, snoring in the other bed in the motel rooms, giving Dean his best bitch face. He feels tears sting is closed eyes, and he tries to will them away. He hears Lee stir across the table from him and he opens his eyes.  
“We’re reaching out to you, Sam Winchester,” she says, opening her eyes as well. “If you can hear us, give us a sign.”  
The room goes cold. Suddenly, the amulet in the middle of the table gives a slight twitch.  
“I’ve made the connection,” Lee tells Dean. “You can speak to him.”  
“Sam? Sammy?” Dean asks. “Can you hear me?”  
“He can hear you,” Lee says, smiling. “He says hi.”  
Dean inhales sharply. It’s so weird to be able talk to Sam, even though it’s not really talking. He sits for a minute, forgetting everything he wanted to say to his little brother. He just revels in the fact that he can speak and Sam can hear him, wherever he is.  
“Sam, where are you?” Dean asks.  
“He says he doesn’t know,” Lee translates for him. “It’s very dark and he can’t see anything. It doesn’t feel like Hell, but he knows it’s not Heaven. All there is is the darkness, and the voices.”  
“Voices?” Dean chokes out.  
“Yes,” Lee replies. “They come to him, whispering to him.”  
“What do they say?”  
“He doesn’t know. They speak a language he doesn’t understand.”  
Dean sighs. He’d hoped it would be easier to find out where Sam is. That would make any rescue mission Dean mounts much easier.  
“He’s sure he doesn’t know where he is?” he asks, but he’s not hopeful.  
“No. He wishes he does, but no dice.”  
Dean rubs his face, trying hard not to lose it. “Look, Sammy,” he starts, “wherever you are, I’m going to find you. I’ll stop at nothing to bring you back, you know that.”  
Lee gets an odd look on her face, as if she’s trying to hold something back. “He knows,” she says.  
They sit for a minute in silence. Dean’s not sure what to do now. He had hoped for some more answers, but he still knows pretty much nothing. He feels extremely frustrated.  
“Is there anything else you wish to say to Sam?” Lee asks.  
“I guess not,” Dean mutters.  
“Very well,” Lee says. “I’ll break the connection.”  
There’s a palpable change in the room. Dean sits back in his chair, trying to collect his thoughts. Suddenly, across the room, Lee goes stiff.  
“Are you ok?” Dean asks, rising slightly. Lee’s eyes stare straight ahead, unfocused.  
“It’s dark,” she mutters. “So dark.”  
Dean jumps up and runs over to the psychic. He grabs her shoulders and shakes. “Lee!” he calls.  
Lee seems to break out of her trance for a second. “I need pencil and paper,” she says, grasping at Dean’s arms desperately.   
“Where?” Dean asks. Lee raises a shaky hand, pointing to the console. Dean runs over to it, pulling the drawers open hastily. He finally finds a notebook and pen in the bottom drawer. He runs back over to Lee and sets them in front of her. Lee grabs the pen, setting a shaky hand to the paper.  
“There’s a room,” she says, starting to sketch something. “So much blood. And a name.” She draws something on the paper, a bunch of weird symbols. “There’s so much pain,” she moans. “The screams, the blood.”  
“Lee!” Dean shakes her arm. But she doesn’t respond.  
“The voices, they whisper in the darkness,” Lee continues. “They wish for destruction, they’re plotting it.”  
“Who?” Dean asks, trying to meet Lee’s eyes.   
“They are from the dawn of time, they wish punishment on those who disobey,” Lee murmurs. Suddenly, she drops the pen, falling forward. Dean catches her by the arms. She’s breathing shallowly.  
“What was that?” Dean asks, searching Lee’s face.  
“A vision,” Lee mutters, sitting up in the chair. Dean stands and leans on the table in front of her. “What, like a premonition?” he asks.  
“I’m not sure,” Lee replies. “With my visions I can’t tell, whether it’s something that has happened, is happening, or will happen. It’s rather frustrating.” She laughs harshly, hands clenching on the table.  
“So you don’t know what any of that was?” Dean asks.  
“Pretty much,” Lee sighs. She looks at the paper, as if searching for something to jump out and tell her what’s going on.  
“Wait,” she says. “I’ve seen this before.” She points to the string of symbols on the paper. She picks it up and stands.  
“What are you doing?” Dean asks.  
“Follow me,” Lee says, going to the narrow staircase in the corner of the room.

After two steep flights of stairs, Dean exits into a wide, narrow room. There are papers all over the walls, drawings, similar to the ones Lee had drawn just now during her vision.  
“This is my room,” Lee says, searching through papers on a desk against the wall.  
“These drawings,” Dean asks, “they’re all from visions you’ve had?”  
“Yep,” Lee says. “Twenty years of drawings.”  
Dean whistles, overwhelmed with the sheer number of them. They cover nearly inch of wall space in the large room.  
“Aha,” Lee says, triumphantly holding up a leather-bound book. She beckons Dean to come over.  
“My journal,” she explains. When I have dreams that I think are important, I record them in this book. It’s kind of a mess.”  
“No kidding,” Dean chuckles. The book is filled with scraps of paper, post-it notes, scattered words and drawings.  
“Yeah, well, I can’t really choose what I see,” Lee says. She flips through the pages, looking closely at everything.  
“There!” she says, pointing to a drawing. It’s the same string of symbols she’d seen in her vision.  
“You said it’s a name,” Dean says. “How did you know?”  
Lee shrugs. “Sometimes I get feelings that I can’t really explain. I know this is a name, but I don’t know who it belongs to.”  
Dean squints at the book. “What’s that?” Dean asks, pointing to a drawing next to the name. It’s a pair of wings.  
“They were connected to the name somehow,” Lee says. “I’m not sure.”  
“The name you saw, was it an angel’s name?” Dean asks, glancing over to Lee.  
“I think so,” Lee says, rubbing her temples. “Yes, it is. That seems right.”  
“So this must be Enochian,” Dean says, running his fingers over the symbols.  
“Enochian?” Lee asks.  
“The language of heaven,” Dean explains.  
“Ah,” Lee says. “Can you read it?”  
“Ha, no,” Dean laughs. “But there are books that I know that can help us translate it.”  
“Are they back at your bunker?” Lee asks. Dean groans internally. Psychics. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll have to take a look at them, see what we can find.”  
“We?” Lee asks, raising an eyebrow at Dean.  
“Yeah,” Dean says. “You’re the one who’s seen these things. It makes sense that you should figure out what they mean.”   
“I guess so,” Lee says. “But I can’t just go running off to do research. I have work.”  
“Lee, this is obviously something really important,” Dean says, placing his hands on the woman’s shoulders. “I need your help on this one.”  
Lee sighs. “You don’t even know me,” she says.  
“True,” Dean shrugs. “But something tells me I can trust you. And if you have any more visions connected to this, it would be good to know about.”  
Lee steps away, turning her back to Dean. She pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “You drive a hard bargain, Winchester,” she chuckles.  
“Is that a yes?” Dean asks.  
“Yeah, what the hell?” Lee says. “I’ll leave my aunt a note, tell her I went away with friends for a few days. That might seem suspicious because I don’t really have friends, but she shouldn’t think too hard about it.”  
“Right,” Dean says, clapping his hands together.  
“When do we leave?” Lee asks.  
“As soon as possible,” Dean says. “If this is something that’s going to happen, maybe we can stop it, if we can figure things out quickly enough.”  
“Yeah,” Lee says, moving over to the closet on the other side of the room. “I’ll just grab some things and we can go.”  
“I’ll wait downstairs,” Dean says. He goes down the stairs and exits into the main room of the shop. He leans against the counter, waiting.  
Ten minutes later, Lee comes through the beads, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.   
“Ready?” Dean asks.  
“Ready,” Lee says, a bit hesitant.  
Dean gestures for the door and they exit. He opens the trunk of the Impala and Lee throws her bag in. Dean climbs into the driver’s seat and leans over to open the passenger side door. Lee stoops down, looking in hesitantly.   
“Come on, it’ll be fine,” Dean says. Lee climbs into the car, awkwardly settling into the passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt. Dean looks over at her and smiles, and she smiles back shyly. Dean pops Van Halen into the tape player, and he sees Lee’s expression brighten slightly. He smiles to himself and pulls away from the curb, heading back towards the bunker.


End file.
